The Daughters of Deduction
by jared-padaleckis-butt
Summary: I guess the title is a bit of a spoiler, but you know how much I care? I don't. OCs (which pretty much make up the entire story, can I even call this a Sherlock fanfic?) copyright me, everything else copyright whoever (BBC? Sure) Rated M for mild violence, strong language, and sexual themes (mm, sexy-times); Girl-on-girl action. My first fic on here, in case you care.


Allison Watson slowly roamed the wet streets of London, her nose and fingers numb from cold. The bruise over her right eye throbbed with each step, along with the pain rising in the crown of her skull, begging for her to rest. But she couldn't, as she had nowhere to.

The rain continued as it had all evening, relentless and unforgiving. The sky was unleashing its anguish onto Allie, leaving her frozen at the core, and causing her to occasionally slip on the icy, wet concrete. It was as if the entire universe was against her today, telling her to go back, return to where you came from. Rid the world of your presence.

Allie had been walking for at least an hour before she collapsed on the ground in exhaustion, sweating despite the bite to the air. She pulled her knees to her chest, focusing on her breathing and not passing out. The young woman could feel her belt digging into her hipbones, which stuck out from her stomach unnaturally; she was definitely malnourished. The scarves around her neck and the coats slung about her shoulders were like paper to her tiny body, and as she never quite felt warm anymore, this immoderate chill was ice in her bones. Seemingly out of nowhere, a small car whipped past her, sending her thin, blonde hair in a rush around her. The car splashed more water onto her, making her feel like a sad, lost dog, searching desperately for it's master.

"Hey, ma'am. Hey," the voice echoed in Allison's head, bouncing off her skull until it disintegrated in her ear drums. It was unfamiliar to her, with only a hint of a British accent but otherwise American. Despite her urge to observe the stranger, her eyelids remained closed, heavy like stone.

"Hey, Allison? Is that your name?" The voice returned. Allie's eyelids fluttered, but she still could not get a good look at the new person before her. "I think you're awake. When you're ready to talk, just call. I'll be nearby." This new voice seemed to be too nice, too ready to sacrifice information Allie could give them.

Her eyes finally cooperated, exposing themselves to the brightness of the room. She took in her surroundings: two simple armchairs, one containing most of soaked clothing, the loveseat she lay upon, and an open doorway to a small kitchen. From the kitchen led into a hallway, which she assumed was where the bedrooms and bathroom were located. The flat itself was small and barely furnished otherwise, with few useless items such as pictures or ornaments strewn about as there would be in the average home. Allie felt alien in the enclosed space, as if the atoms in her body were reacting negatively to the ones in the air. She could feel the stuffy air through her thin fleece jacket, but she was cold nonetheless.

A tall, muscular figure rounded the corner into the kitchen, holding two mugs of what Allie presumed to be tea. He had overgrown brown hair that hung in his eyes like he didn't realize it was there, a knit cardigan, and jeans. The man smiled at her, a too-big smile that his faced was forced to frame itself around. "Well, good morning, Allison. Nice to see you've finally woken up. I was getting a bit worried. Would you like to talk over some tea?" His voice was sweet and thick, like honey, but it flowed well. She nodded, eager.

The tea was perfectly warm and sweetened, and thus Allie downed it swiftly, almost choking on her impatience. The man chuckled. "So, Allie—can I call you Allie?"

She nodded, setting her mug on the coffee table.

" Allie—hi, I'm Harry. Nice to meet you. I found you on the side of the road; I decided that you needed a place to stay for a while. This is my flat—well, I'm renting it out to a friend. I contacted her, and she gave permission for you to stay here for the next few days while she's out on a business trip."

Allie looked up at the man. By his accent, she guessed that he was born in America (or had least spent most of his childhood there) and lived a good portion of his life here in Britain. He had a 5 o'clock shadow, which made his sharp jawline even more defined, and his stance and posture radiated friendliness. Allie coughed.

"Why did you... save me?" She asked, unknowing of how else to phrase her thought.

"I thought you looked like you would appreciate it. No offense, but you look a bit beaten up."  
Allie winced at the term. He didn't know how right he was.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that would be sensitive. Why don't I get you some more tea, and we can chat a bit longer?" Harry swiftly swooped up the mugs and darted off into the kitchen, leaving Allie by herself in the room. She looked down at her tortured fingernails, long devoid of polish or care. She had gnawed them off in the early morning hours she lay sleepless in bed, not once considering leaving them in peace.

But always considering leaving.


End file.
